


Bones

by RunningHaunted



Series: Kindred [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Geralt doesn‘t do feelings dammit, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jaskier you are a dramatic idiot, M/M, No monsters have been harmed in the making of this fic, Post Season 1, headcanons about witchers, if roach could talk there wouldn‘t be any problems at all, spoiler: he does them anyway, systematic butchering of tags and language, timeframe? Never heard of her, we stan this boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22006678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunningHaunted/pseuds/RunningHaunted
Summary: Jaskier knows that Geralt will probably end up killing him eventually.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Kindred [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584472
Comments: 71
Kudos: 3375





	Bones

**Author's Note:**

> First short fic in this fandom because there’s a distinct lack of this pairing at the moment. 
> 
> I have decided to play around a little with my headcanon about witchers having adopted traits from animals/monsters due to their mutation. As of yet I have no idea where that might lead but it was a lot of fun to write, so... enjoy? :)

The monster growls and the Witcher growls right back, stepping around the beast‘s desperate jab from sharp claws elegantly; driving his sword through a rotting head, teeth bared in something Jaskier shies away from describing. 

He shivers from where he‘s sprawled in the mud, clothes stiffening in the frigid air. It‘s moments like these that he remembers that Geralt isn‘t as human as Jaskier likes to pretend sometimes, that once his eyes become feverish, his foes are doomed to a swift but gruesome death.

One of the clawed hands, if they could even be called that, hit the ground only inches from him, spreading a foul odor from where Geralt had cut it from the.. thing‘s.. body 

The wound on the bard‘s side pulls and burns when tries to scoot backwards with the intent of seeking even a semblance of shelter underneath the thorny brushes. He stops when his hands come away slick with blood

The beast shrieks once, thrashes its many limbs through the air, then falls to the ground, stilling before the poised Witcher’s form. 

Geralt rounds on him, eyes aglow in the quickly fading light of day. „What the fuck were you trying to do back there?“

„Get some water“ Jaskier says, dumbly. It‘s true enough. He had been thirsty, and the sound of running water nearby was enough tp draw him away from the safety of the camp. 

„ _You_...“ Geralt clenches his fist around the sword, rage evident on his face as he stomps towards Jaskier, then stops when the bard flinches unintentionally. 

He is not scared of Geralt. He really is not, even though he thinks he probably should be. Lesser men have been felled by this sword of his. Probably for lesser reasons than annoying him with constant chatter and unbidden company, too. 

He is not scared of the Witcher, just of the moment when his patience runs out and that piece of metal will be pushed through his own gut. Jaskier has absolutely no illusions in this regard. He is, for all his beauty and divine musical talent, thank you very much, not a warrior or sorcerer. Nor a delightful companion, if one wants to believe some particularly nasty comments. 

Which is why he is quite sure that one of these days— and part of him is surprised that he‘s even lasted this long in the first place, really— Geralt will have enough of the trouble he‘s causing him and simply run him through. With a jeweled dagger, preferably. Something to write songs about. 

The ballad of the stupid bard who had a crush on a Witcher and got killed by said Witcher after annoying him one too many times. Yes, spectacular. The title itself would be the punchline. 

An odd expression crosses Geralt‘s face, but it‘s gone before Jaskier can pinpoint it. He advances again, but slower this time, sheathing the sword on his way. 

Alright, maybe strangling then. He could live with that... or not. 

Geralt kneels by his side and bats Jaskier‘s hand away from where it’s pressed against the wound. He hisses when Geralt lifts is shirt a little, exposing the cut and prodding the flesh around it. 

“You’re the dumbest person I’ve ever met.” the Witcher grumbles, piercing Jaskier with a grumpy glare that has the bard smile sheepishly. “Awe, don’t be like that. Just making sure you’re-“

Jaskier yelps when Geralt suddenly presses down hard, murmuring something incomprehensible. “Unholy mother of- what was that for!?”

Geralt lifts an eyebrow, taking his hand off the wound that.... is already scabbed over? And stands in one fluid motion, stalking away into the forest. 

Jaskier scrambles after him, not keen on being left alone in the darkening woods with the carcass of a monster only a few feet away. 

“Geralt, _wait_!” 

He’s sure that he’s only able to follow Geralt back to camp because the Witcher purposely steps on a few twigs along the way, but who is Jaskier to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He plops down beside Geralt with a sigh, holding his hands out towards the fire. “Man, thank you for helping me out back there. I would have been beef stew without you.”

Geralt grunts, staring into the flames. Roach neighs somewhere behind them. It sounds suspiciously like a condescending chuckle. 

“You know, I was thinking about making this my next song!”

No reaction. 

“The heroics of Geralt of Rivia, savior of handsome bards and pretty women, the-“

“Shut up.”

Jaskier snaps his mouth shut. 

That silence lasts for about two minutes. 

“You know, when we get to the next city I’m going to have-“ 

This time Geralt does turn, piercing him with a stare from wolf like eyes. Jaskier falls quiet again. 

Roach paws the ground, inspecting a patch of almost green grass with interest before she notices the bard staring and seems to deliberately turn the other direction so her behind filled out his entire view Yeah, she was starting to warm up to him. 

“We should part ways.”

Jaskier blinks, thinks he must have misheard. “What?” 

“It’s time we part ways.” Geralt repeats, ever the stoic one. His face shows no emotion whatsoever.

Even Geralt‘s mare turns back around at that, watching them. 

“No” Jaskier deadpans. Because he’s resigned himself to a few facts very early on in this adventure. One fact states that either a monster, human or Geralt himself will have to kill him if they want him to stop following the Witcher around. 

An incredibly selfish decision, perhaps. Jaskier is very much aware that he is but a klutz for Geralt, but he prefers not to linger on this topic too long lest it reveal some unsavory truths about himself he is not yet ready to face. 

“No?” Geralt frowns. 

“Nope” agrees Jaskier, grinning stupidly and not at all perturbed by the threatening look he’s being subjected to. 

“This isn’t up for debate.”

“Oh I know” Jaskier says seriously. He pulls a piece of dried fruit from his bag and begins munching on it half heartedly. 

The Witcher’s expression darkens and Jaskier smiles even harder. “Awe, look at you! Being alldark and brooding with that handsome face of yours.”

Geralt frowns even harder and his hand wanders to the dagger lying discarded on the forest floor. Probably having fallen from the Witcher’s pocket when Jaskier had started screaming his head off earlier. 

“You know for a moment there when that thing just jumped out at me I was like ‘ _wait! Is that one of your relatives?’_ But then I was like ‘ _nahhhhhh, he’s lacking the dark glower and handsome features_ ’. On the other hand, I once had an aunt just like that. Minus the claws, obviously.” Jaskier stumbles a little over his chatter when his companion picks up the knive, twirling it around his fingers, but resumes needling Geralt nonetheless. “Though I must confess, Blaviken has it all backw-“

“You are afraid.” Geralt says, and Jaskier blinks. 

“Hold on, what?”

Yellow eyes assess him like a wolf would its prey. But Jaskier has never been particularly smart when it comes to acting in the face of danger. He thinks he’d likely have better chances of outrunning wolves than a Witcher, too. 

“You are afraid of me, yet you insist on tagging along.” 

Jaskier snorts. “Ok, no, first of all, I’m definitely not afraid of- YIKES!” Geralt moves in a blur and then there are fingers curled around his throat, not applying any pressure, but positively capable of crushing his windpipe or snapping his neck within a second. 

They stare at each other as Jaskier’s own hands fly up to clutch awkwardly at Geralt’s hand. His smile must look shaky now, still he manages to press a “Now, my dear Witcher, you know I’m up for experimenting with your kinks. But warn a guy next time, yeah?” Through dry lips. 

Something like resignation (sadness?) crosses Geralt’s face, but it’s gone again before Jaskier can tell for sure and the hand leaves his throat. “You  are .”

“Well _yes_!” The bard blurts “when somebody just grabs your throat like that without foreplay it’s usually not good!” 

Geralt lifts an eyebrow and only then does Jaskier notice that both his hands are still grasping Geralt’s. He let’s go as if the Witcher was on fire, ears burning. 

“I’m not scared of you.” He repeats, no more than a mumble. 

“Hm.”

Jaskier sighs, focusing on a strand of white hair that had escaped from behind Geralt’s ear. “I’m really not. I’m just waiting for-... never mind.”

The wind picks up, sifting through the leaves and carrying the sound of some far away creature crying its song into the void.

Roach throws her head back, blowing out a puff of air in their direction. Jaskier thinks there’s too much intelligence behind her stare. Horses shouldn’t be running towards danger, but she does. For Geralt. 

There’s a strange sort of kinship he feels with her in that regard. 

“For what?” 

Jaskier startles. “Come again?”

“You’re waiting for what?” Geralt repeats gruffly. 

“It doesn’t-“

“Spit it out.”

The bard chews on his lower lip, contemplating the pros and cons of telling Geralt the truth. Worst case scenario: sword through gut... hopefully.

While Jaskier is lost in thought Geralt moves, and that alone has him spluttering the answer before he can make a conscious decision. 

“I keep wondering when you’re going to be fed up with me and kill me!” he squeaks, then immediately regrets it and starts cursing. 

Geralt stares at him like he just insulted his great grandmother’s grave. And kicked Roach. And a few puppies. 

Geralt stands abruptly and marches off into the trees, having Jaskier almost stumble and fall into the fire in his haste to follow. “Geralt! Wait! Where are you going!?”

More curses. Curses that his parents would have cuffed him over the head for. “Geralt! Fuck- Geralt!” 

Jaskier doesn’t know how long he chases Geralt through the thicket, but his lungs are burning and he’s heaving when he finally catches up to him. Or maybe Geralt just slows down a bit. 

Jaskier is so focused on not falling behind again that he absolutely misses when Geralt just... stops, and barrels into him with a low “oof”. Which admittedly doesn’t do anything to the Witcher (Geralt is like a fucking boulder) but it sends him bouncing off Geralt’s back and would have landed him back on the ground if the witcher hadn’t turned around and grabbed him by the arm, steadying him. 

“Be careful!” He snaps. 

“Thank you.”

Geralt frowns again, let’s him go, but Jaskier clasps his lower arm before he can pull it back and refuses to back down when the Witcher growls at him from deep in his throat. 

Yes, Geralt is as inhuman as they come. He has beast jaws cramped into his all too human mouth, and Jaskier is almost sure that the same could be said about his insides. 

He growls when he’s irritated or annoyed, like wolves do. But Jaskier has learned that, just like in a pack, he can still push some more before Geralt truly becomes angry. 

“I am not afraid, and I will not leave.”

The growl turns into a downright snarl, and barely a fraction of a second later Geralt has a hand curled around his throat again. “And you decided that all on your own, bard?” 

“Yes.” Jaskier doesn’t even blink. He feels oddly at ease despite his position, blinking up at Geralt curiously. 

He doesn’t have a death wish per se, but he’s also sure that he’s never felt more content or happy in his life before he met the Butcher of Blaviken. 

So he’d rather choose death before dishonor and all that. Or rather, death before unhappiness and misery and a life alone on the- the fingers around his throat tighten infinitesimally. 

Right. Focus, Jaskier!

“You are afraid right now.” Geralt says, and Jaskier rolls his eyes. 

“Duh, remember what I said about this lacking the foreplay to make it fun?” 

There’s a suspicious twitch around Geralt’s mouth that Jaskier counts as a win. “I do.”

“So, doing any more killing today?” 

Geralt closes his eyes briefly, and the lack of their golden glow is disconcerting in the darkness. When he opens them again, there’s a strange... something that Jaskier can’t name. 

“Unlikely.” The hand around his throat slackens and slides down to his shoulder. 

Jaskier grins. “Great! Then maybe we should-“ 

Geralt leans down, pressing their foreheads together, and the bard is so dumbfounded by this sign of... whatever it is, that he’s sure his heart misses a few beats. 

“I do not understand you.” He says. 

“Thank you. That’s part of my artist’s flair and the ladies really like a good mystery-“ 

“You are not one of mine. I do not understand.”

Geralt is unnaturally warm. That’s the first thing that truly registers in Jaskier’s mind. Then the scent of pine and sweat and something very distinctly inhuman. 

“Uhm, Geralt, did I break you or something? Because that would be really bad for business you know.”

Geralt huffs. There’s conflict edged into every line of his face. “You are human.”

“Unless I missed something I would assume so...” Jaskier tries desperately to ignore the way they’re only an inch or so apart. He’s sure his face is burning scarlet, even in the darkness that had crept up on them in the meantime. 

He needs to find a way out of this, soon. Unless he wants the Witcher to find out about his very... odd ....attraction (...ok, fine, love). In this case he would consider himself lucky if the only thing that got him was a sword through the gut. 

Geralt’s eyes narrow and there’s only a short moment in which Jaskier can worry that the mutant had somehow smelled his thoughts before he’s being cuffed over the head. Hard. 

“OW! What was that for!?”

There’s no reply as Geralt stalks back to where they’d come from, and Jaskier splutters curses behind him like a shipwrecked sailor. 

He can’t quite keep himself from noticing, however, that Geralt deliberately seems to stay within his sight. 

And more than once he catches the glow of his eyes as the Witcher shoots a lock over his shoulder. 

It may not be affection, Jaskier thinks, but it’s more than he’d dared to hope for in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow ok so this was supposed to have only like 900 words....  
> anyway, constructive criticism would be very much appreciated along with any ideas you guys might have for future scenarios in case I decide to add any parts to this series.  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Note: not beta or proof read as of yet


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